


Blind Date(s)

by rowanrt7



Category: The 100, The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Fluff, Fluffy as hell, and bellamy pays the price, clarke sucks at picking where to eat, label under : things that ran away from me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 01:20:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10709157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowanrt7/pseuds/rowanrt7
Summary: Tumblr prompt: AU where Clarke keeps bringing her blind dates to Bellamy's restaurant, and honestly it's just rude that she makes he watch this crap.





	Blind Date(s)

“Are you going to kiss me or not?” the girl said. She stood with her hands on her hips, her blonde hair falling obscuring her features.

Bellamy opened his mouth and then closed it again. His cigarette dribbled ash onto his fingers and he flicked it off, annoyed with the heat.

She wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at her date. He was taller than she, with a kind, if stupefied face. They stood outside of Arcadia, the nicest restaurant in town, which wasn’t saying much as the town was only 5000 people. Until she had spoken, Bellamy hadn’t noticed they were there. He was on a break; he was trying hard not to see the patrons around him, or breathe the heavy garlicky air from one of the sous-chef’s spice rampages earlier in the evening. But the sharpness of the girl’s tone brought him back into himself. his spine pressed against the rough brick exterior and exhaustion crept up through the soles of his feet like clinging vines.

There were three more hours left in his shift, and because of that he was fascinated by the girl and her date. It was the closest thing to entertainment he would get all night.

“I was planning to later,” the date said. The blonde girl scoffed. He couldn’t see her very well but her voice, commanding, and a little demanding cut straight through his torpor. 

That’s sweet,” she said, and he almost thought she meant it. “But this is our fourth date. Time’s up.” She said it without a hint of malice, as if it were a fact, decided ages ago. “Thanks for dinner.” Leaving the boy standing there, she walked away, chin high. A silver SUV pulled up to the curb and the valet, Jasper hopped out. He held his keys out ready for the transfer, but the date was watching the blonde girl leave. They all were. As she disappeared into the darkness, her full purple skirt swished and her shoes hit the faux-historical cobblestone sidewalk with determination. Bellamy’s tobacco buzz mellowed his mind to kindness for this girl. He too had been on dates that seemed interminable, but then, he always sealed the deal. His mind wandered off into that pleasant fantasy until the timer on his phone rang. Fifteen minutes were up, and he had a shift to finish. He went back inside.

That had been a week ago. Now, standing at the beginning of his shift, he looked at the map of tables for the night. It looked off. He counted. And then counted again. No, certainly there was one more than there should have been. He was already stretched too thin; this was a nice place, a place where better service at fewer tables meant better money for him. Not some harum scarum serving race. No way. He wouldn’t stand for it. 

Stalking over to the hostess podium, he said, “What the hell Reyes?” Rousted from her glazed eyed smiling, Reyes turned the full power of her eyes on him. The moment when her smile switched from fake to real lit her up. Her dark eyeliner crinkled beneath her eyes.

“I put another table in your section.” Her tone brokered no argument. In fact, the sweetness with which she spoke betrayed none of the glee she must feel.

“Why Reyes? Why?” They’d slept together a lifetime ago and now she enjoyed making his life more difficult whenever she could.

Her true intentions split her face into an evil grin. “Looks like a first date too.”

“So they’ll split an appetizer and nurse their drinks for three hours? Fu-antastic!” He turned the curse around as he watched the maitre-d walk through the kitchen door. With a glare for Reyes, he announced. “I better go make sure they like their table!”

“My name is Logan,” he said sharply. Each night he wore a different name tag. He didn’t like patrons having his real name. “May I help you?” he asked curtly, though still with a serviceable smile. Then he looked at the customers. It was the blonde girl again.

She was with a different boy, wearing different clothes. Only her hair was the same, curling over her shoulders. She wore a black dress, falling off her shoulders to reveal the white skin below and disappearing into the dark void below the table. Her necklace was turquoise and caught in her cleavage. Bellamy tried very hard not to stare at it. 

“She’ll have a gin and tonic,” the date said. Bellamy looked at him for the first time. His outfit fair screamed money, though his face was narrow, a little rat-like. “And so will I.”

Bellamy turned to the blonde. “Anything else?”

“No, thank you,” said the date. 

He waited for the commanding tone he’d seen in her a week ago, but she said nothing, only smiled blandly.

They did eventually order dinner, and when he brought to the check to the table she reached out and grabbed his sleeve before he could vanish. “I’ve got that.” She already had a card in her hand, and she slipped it into the folio without looking at the tab.

“So he orders and you pay,” Bellamy said before he could stop himself. “Is that about the size of it ?”

“As it happens, it’s his card,” she said with a grin.

“Does he know that?” he asked. He was being too flip. She could complain and get him fired. But she didn’t seem to mind.

“Let’s just say I’m ready to make a quick getaway. You think you could tell him his card was declined? Run it twice?” She produced a fifty dollar bill from somewhere on her person and held it in the air. Did she have pockets in that scrap of fabric she was wearing? “Please?” she added when he said nothing in reply. Instead, he was watching the light glitter off the diamond bracelet she wore, and the soft sheen of polished nails so understated they must cost an outrageous amount. Any other customer, he would’ve snatched that money so fast their fingers would burn. But something in his stomach twisted about taking it from her. 

He closed his eyes for half a second, banishing ... whatever it was, and took the money from her carefully. It would be rude to refuse, and he was in no position to. “Honestly, it would make my night,” he said with a real smile. 

When her eyes darkened, he didn’t miss it. She stood, purse already in hand, the folio caught between them. She was standing too close to him. He was right at the table, an appropriate service distance, but her standing threw it off. A pleasantly earthy scent emanated from her. No floral perfume for his blonde, but something strong, maybe even masculine, but in combination with the lipstick, and certainly the cleavage, it complicated rather than confused. 

“You don’t seem the type to let men order for you,” he said. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Why let him?” God, her eyes were so blue. A man could drown in eyes like that if he wasn’t careful.

“What’s the good in causing a scene?” she asked, acutely aware that that was they doing right now, for anyone who cared to watch. He had freckles dotted across his face. She hadn’t seen that before in the dim light. “You won’t see him again here.” His shirt was unbuttoned just one button. Had it been like that the whole time? The hollow of his throat was framed neatly by the edges of his collar. 

“Will I see you again here?” Bellamy

“The bill?” she asked quietly, shifting it in her hand. A rebuke then. Gentle, necessary, but still there. They were, after all standing in the middle of a restaurant. Still, there was that look in her eyes. He folded his hand over hers, grabbing just the smallest bit of leather so that when she let go, he held on. 

Quickly, she stepped away. “Thank you Logan,” she said, and because she hadn’t looked at the name tag before she said it, it confused him. She was already gone before he remembered, the logical flash, and then, floating quietly after, the feather thought that he would have liked to hear her say his name.

\---

She was back. She was sitting in his section again. Her back was to him, but he recognized the messy curls. He couldn’t see her date, but hadn’t she expressly said she wouldn’t go out with him again? Or had she found a new man in the space of four days? He snorted. Reyes winked at him as she walked by, menus in hand.

As he approached the table, he honed in on her. This time he was going to deal directly with her. 

“Hello, my name is Matt, what can I get you tonight?” he asked, the sentence flowing out like an oil slick.

Her smile was polite, removed. “Just water please. And the crab cakes, thank you.” Well, what else had he expected? It wasn’t as if something had happened between them, although he had had a wonderful time watching her date’s face fall when he came back to the table to realize she had gone, and then grow angry when he bumbled the card transaction three times. Because she had filled out the card slip, his tip had been unaffected, and with that extra fifty dollars, she had been his best table that night. Somehow, though, he didn't think her money was what made his heart thrum in his throat when he looked at her.

He turned to her date. “And you-” he stopped abruptly. Sitting across from her was a dark-haired girl in a strappy black dress. He cleared his throat. “What can I get you?”

“Water for me too, thanks.” This girl was a little rougher around the edges than his blonde. These were the things he was trained to notice; although her dress fit her excellently, and she was as beautiful as sharp and fragile glass, her hair was natural. Her nails too. Her jewelry sterling silver instead of shiny stones. This place hadn’t been her idea.

He came back with a pitcher, to find the blonde girl alone at the table. “So you’re back again? You must’ve really enjoyed your meal.”

“I did. I’m planning to eat my way through your whole menu.”

“I hope you and your friend have a nice time.” Like picking at a scab, he had to know the answer to this particular question. 

“Date,” she corrected mildly, picking up her water. He glanced up at her. Half a smile played at the corner of her lip, as if she knew precisely why he asked.

Bellamy froze, his pitcher hovering over the empty glass. And then, “you brought two dates here in one week.”

“You said your name was Logan, and now you say it’s Matt.” She might as well have added, ‘you mind your business and I’ll mind mine.’ But she didn’t because of course she was too well bred for that.

There was a moment of quiet while he refilled their glasses. Then she said, “can I give you some advice?”

“About what?” He asked, wary. 

That couple,” she pointed discreetly with her fork. “You're flirting with the wrong one. He appreciates it more than she.” He followed her eye line to a well heeled middle aged couple. They were regulars, coming in the first Friday of every month, oh, ever since he had started working here.

“You're kidding.” 

She shook her head. “These are my people. I know them. Whether they want me to or not. “ she laughed a little, half a laugh like she was on the other end of a tunnel. 

“I'll keep it in mind,” he said, turning to go. 

“Wait.” She grabbed his hand holding him place for just a heartbeat. Her skin was soft, her grip light. It shouldn't have paralyzed him the way it did. And then, as if she hadn’t just brushed off his personal question, she said, “what is your name really?”

The right thing to do was brush her off in return. He cleared his throat. “Bellamy.”

He brought them their appetizer, and then later a pair of martinis, and then even later, a chocolate dessert the pastry chef had concocted only earlier that day, that looked like a peach but was entirely truffle beneath. They lingered. They laughed. The more he watched them, the tenser he became.

Was it was because she was with a women? He hadn't thought he was the type of guy to care about that but ... and as soon as that occurred to him, the truth struck. It wasn't that she was with a women. It was that this date was going well. The previous two had been entertaining train wrecks, but now that she was having a good time he wasn’t just bored, he was irritated. The realization of it made him take a cigarette break. 

When she went home with the brunette, a gust of anger roiled over him, and though he was self-aware enough to name it, he was self-destructive enough to think it didn’t matter.  
\---

She and the brunette came in for a long time. Six months maybe. They always, always, always sat in his section. Maybe they wouldn’t except Raven made the shift charts, so they were always working together, and so she always saw the reservation. Even if she wasn’t mildly vindictive, Bellamy probably couldn’t have escaped. It wasn’t that big of a restaurant. Eventually he stopped giving Reyes crap for putting her in his section. It made the crazy rush of a Friday evening a little more bearable. More surprisingly, Reyes didn’t pull her table out of his section once he stopped complaining.

Like clockwork, Friday evening at 8 PM. He watched their relationship progress in weekly intervals, like watching an hour long television episode. Their postures relaxed. They held hands across the table, took turns with the bill. That was how he finally learned her name, off a credit card slip. Clarke Griffin, and he firmly decided to call her that in his mind, instead of thinking of her as his blonde. The brunette’s name he learned too, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to think of her like that. Easier to hate her if she hadn’t a name. Not that he did.

Laughter became louder, looser. Sometimes their conversation would ebb, and they sat quietly, casting their eyes about the restaurant, like an old married couple. 

Bellamy loved those nights; often her eyes would find him, track him from kitchen to table, like a lazy lion who, too full to hunt, watches a gazelle cross its path. He liked to be watched, but he knew, always, that she was going home with her brunette. There was no hunger in her gaze for him. Just curiosity. The placid knowledge that she could have him if she wanted. She could have anyone. 

He remembered the first Friday they didn’t come. He had a nearly nauseous feeling of anticipation from 8 to 9 PM and then a queer disappointment when they didn’t show at all. He tried to tell himself it was a good thing, that now he couldn’t nurse his little crush on their weekly scraps of conversation. Because they still did talk, when her brunette was absent. Only then and only about very safe topics. The weather. One day he wore an elaborate tie which she commented on and they spoke about his sister. He hated that he remembered all of it, because there was so little to be had. He hated that he checked the reservations list, because she always had a reservation, to make sure they simply hadn’t switched their date night to a time he wasn’t working.

This was better he decided. He had girls in those six months of course, dates of his own which he brought to pubs and out dancing, and if they were really lucky and got to the third date, to the library. That was usually where the wheels fell off the wagon. He would keep seeing them, and maybe one would get past the third date.

Four months later, she was back. Not on Friday. Wednesday evening. When he went on break, she wasn’t there. Then, suddenly, she was. Why had no one come get him? He looked around at his fellow servers who hummed efficiently about with menus and trays. Someone had covered his section of course, and of course they didn’t think it would be a big deal. Because it isn’t, he told himself sternly.

She wore a dress he hadn’t seen before, and he thought himself familiar with her evening repertoire by now. There were three dresses, the purple, the black and the deep blue. Though he wasn’t a fashion aficionado, he did understand how colors worked. And the black he could always pick out because he liked it best. It showed her curves to the best advantage.

This one was also black, but it was far from the sultry number she usually wore. It was mostly lace, and crept high up her neck. For the first time he had seen, her hair was up. She sat alone, playing with the pearl earring in her ear. He almost sat down across from her. But he remembered himself and stood.

“Are we waiting for your girlfriend?” he asked, refilling her water without asking. There was an empty tumbler at her elbow that someone else had brought her.

“Blind date,” she said shortly. If she pulled any harder at that earring she would rip it from her ear.

“When should we expect them?” he said, carefully using the gender neutral. This was a discussion they were so not close enough to have. She caught it, of course.

“Oh, he was supposed to be here about 20 minutes ago.” 

“And you’re disappointed?” he asked

“Not in the slightest.”

Why, he wanted to know, was she so uncomfortable then? “The check maybe?” he ventured instead. 

“No, but I’ll have another drink. Not so much ice this time?”

Returning to the bar, Maya poured out straight whiskey for her, the glass only a quarter full. He shook his head. She splashed in a little more. “Have you seen this girl tonight?” he asked. “Fill that up.” She shrugged. “You’re the boss, boss,” she said, topping it off. He wasn’t and they knew it, but he didn’t argue.

When she asked for a third, he took her glass and came back with a plate of pasta carbornara. “Eat it,” he said, plonking it in front of her.

She looked up at him, her blue eyes slightly unfocused. “I didn’t order this.” She licked her lips. “Did I?”

“You did not. On me.”

“I couldn’t,” she said. “That must come out of your paycheck.”

“It’s about 85 cents worth of pasta. It’s worth it to me if I don’t have to take your keys later.”

“Thank you,” she said and her smile was so true it could have broken his heart.

The lights dimmed around her, but she kept drinking. People came and went, and eventually the restaurant closed. He told Maya to go home. He’d get the bar shut down. She smirked at him, past him to where his blonde was half falling out of her chair. “Make sure she pays that tab or it’ll be your hide.” But she left readily enough.

He closed the bar mechanically, counting money, shining glasses. All the while he was aware of Clarke sitting at her table, drinking water now, watching him. Finally, she came over to him, carting her empty glass. “Aren’t you going to ask?” she said. He looked up from wiping down the bar.

“Ask what?”

“What happened. To me and her.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

He really was the most beautiful boy, she thought. Eyes tired from his shift, mouth tugged down at the corners, but still beautiful. Still glowing from somewhere within. “We didn’t break up,” she said, her voice soft with whiskey. “She died. Random gun violence. An freak accident.”

There was nothing to say to that, so he kept quiet. 

“This is my date place,” she said. “Has been for ages. But it became our place, you know, after a while. I really was doing better. I thought I was ready to move on. I am ready. It’s just this place.”

“You said ages? Haven’t you only been coming here for like a year?”

“Oh almost three.”

“I didn’t notice you.”

“That’s not really your job.” 

“It felt like it after a while.”

“Yeah, you did wait on she and me a lot,”

Had she really not noticed? He had been her only waiter, for a year. Something in him fell, something he hadn’t realized he’d been holding up. He affected a light tone. “Before that even,” he said. “I saw some of your other dates. There was that boy, the one you left standing on the curb? I liked him.”

“Finn,” she said with a smile, half abashed, half laughing. “I was so fed up with him by the end.” 

“I remember. First thing I heard you say.” He cocked his hip out, raised his voice an octave. “Are you going to kiss me, or what?” He laughed. “Stupid boy.”

“Why stupid?” she asked, propping her elbow on the bar.

“What?” He brought himself up short. “I just meant that if a man has an opportunity like that ...” he trailed off, focused his eyes on a stubborn grease spot. He had to buff that out.

"An opportunity like what?" she asked lightly. Lifting herself from her seat, she slid onto the bar next to where he scrubbed at the bar. His rag had gone dry, but he didn't move to fix it. 

"Just if a girl throws herself at you ..." he trailed off again. Where was the soap? He found his bucket, dipped the rag in it. He waited for her to take umbrage with his statement, to argue that she hadn't been throwing herself at anyone thank you very much. But she didn't. Instead, she pulled her legs neatly across the bar, so that they hung from the inside, scant inches from him.

A smile spread across her face, catlike. She dropped first one heel and then the other onto the ground. The sound of leather against tile reverberated between them. She leaned down on her elbows, looking for all the world as carefree as a child. Except for the look in her eyes. He couldn't mistake that. Still, neither of them moved, though he felt his pulse against his throat.

Quietly, she said, “So, Bellamy, are you going to kiss me or not?”


End file.
